Let It Be Me, Becky Wade [beautiful books to read .TXT] 📗

but remained soundless.

Sebastian appered to be reading Isabella’s monitors.

“Do you . . . live in Atlanta?” Leah asked Megan.

“We live two hours away, in Augusta. At first I drove in every morning and drove home every evening, but that was just too hard. So now I’m staying at the Ronald McDonald House. My husband works during the week in Augusta and joins me here on weekends.”

“I’ll stop by later,” Sebastian said to Megan.

“Sounds good.”

He headed out.

“Nice to meet you,” Leah said before following Sebastian. They walked back toward the central desk. “How common is it for one parent to live here and the other in their hometown while their child is being treated?”

“Very common. Spending time with Isabella has become Megan’s full-time job. She’s here most of the day, every day.”

“What’s Isabella’s diagnosis?”

“She has a rudimentary ventricle that isn’t composed of myocardium. It’s not functional. She’s seven weeks old, and she’s never breathed on her own, never been fully conscious.”

Leah recalled how, when Dylan was nine, a bad case of pneumonia had hospitalized him for two nights. Her anxiety had been so all-consuming that she’d barely slept.

“Isabella’s been here seven weeks?”

“Yes.”

“What’s her treatment plan?”

“A heart transplant is her only option.”

A stone of dismay dropped through Leah. “No.”

He regarded her steadily. “I’m afraid so.”

She spotted Dylan standing in front of a series of framed ink-on-paper drawings. Sebastian started toward him and Leah was on the verge of doing the same when a female voice spoke near her shoulder.

“You’re the only personal friends he’s had here, other than the Colemans.”

Leah turned to find a sixty-something woman with matte brown hair and false eyelashes.

“Is that right?” Leah asked pleasantly.

“That’s right.” Wearing scrubs patterned with llamas, the woman was wearing a badge that proclaimed her to be a PA named Markie. She moved her chin in Sebastian’s direction. “What’s your relationship with him?” She asked the question with unconcealed interest, as well as a trace of protectiveness.

“We’re friends.”

“Hmm.” Markie sized her up. “Well. Dr. Grant is bossy.” She made a tut sound. “Bossy’s not really the best word. . . . Hard-charging? Certainly high maintenance. A perfectionist. But here’s the deal: In my opinion, a few of the kids he’s treated have lived mostly because he was so determined that they wouldn’t die.”

Her words gave Leah chills.

“Unfortunately,” Markie confided, “that also means that he takes the losses harder than is healthy. We all take them hard, don’t get me wrong. But Dr. Grant takes them too hard. And I want him to have longevity at this because unless I miss my guess, and I don’t think I do, he’s destined to become one of the world’s best.”

“I see.”

“It sure would be nice for him to have someone to come home to. Someone he could talk to about things other than medicine and heart defects. Someone who could remind him about the best things in life.”

Like geometry? “I’m sure that would be very nice, but that someone won’t be me. I don’t do romance.”

A beat passed. Markie released a cackling laugh. When Leah didn’t laugh in return, Markie sobered and said, “Piffle,” with feeling. “He’s very alone.”

“I’m also very alone. For many of us that isn’t a detriment.”

“Dr. Grant’s alone to the point that it’s not good for him. Between you and me, the youngest nurse here, Ellie, is crazy about him. She’s been doing her best to catch his interest—and she’s a pretty little thing—but she’s not having any luck. But you . . .” She eyed Leah speculatively.

“I’m not girlfriend material.”

“Piffle!”

Sebastian approached. “Markie,” he greeted the older woman.

“Dr. Grant.”

“Have you been pumping Leah for information?”

“Not at all!” she said with pretend outrage.

“Blasting her with a fire hose full of information, then.”

Markie tossed another cackle over her shoulder as she went about her duties.

“Sorry about that,” Sebastian said. “She’s always got her head so buried in everybody else’s business that she doesn’t realize when she’s making people uncomfortable. Did she throw me under the bus or praise me?”

“A little of both?”

“I—” A shrill sound interrupted him. He pulled his phone from his pocket. “My pager,” he explained. Clicking off the noise, he read the alert on the screen with a serious expression.

“I presume you’re needed elsewhere,” Leah said.

He lifted his head. “I am. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said merrily to cover her sharp sense of regret. Their time together was at an end. There was no way to know when and if she’d see him again . . . when and if she’d encounter these delightful and highly unusual sparks and pangs. “Thanks for meeting with us.” She poked Dylan’s calf with her toe.

“Yeah, man,” Dylan said. “Thanks.”

Sebastian’s forehead wrinkled. “I wish we had more time.”

“Dylan and I have already taken too much of your time.”

“Will you be able to find your way out?”

“I was a math prodigy, remember? I’m more than equal to this hospital’s floor plan,” she said laughingly, waving him off. He was making her nervous about whatever situation awaited him at the other end of that page. She didn’t want to burn precious seconds.

“Good-bye.”

“Go save babies!”

Sebastian vanished around a corner.

“You have a crush on him, don’t you?” Dylan asked.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, beloved brother of mine.”

He did an embarrassing impression of her. Big, adoring eyes. Dazed smile.

“That is not how I acted just now.”

“You have a crush on him.”

“I most assuredly do not.” What I have are some dreams of him and melting sensations when he looks at me. Why had two people in the span of five minutes determined that she and Sebastian should be romantically linked?

“How come you never go on any dates?”

“I’ve been on some dates.”

“When was the last one?”

“Six years ago.”

“That’s forever.”

“No. Six years ago is six years ago. Forever is another mathematical concept entirely.”

“How come you haven’t dated anyone since then?”

“Because I haven’t been interested in anyone.”

“That’s weird.”

“No it’s not. It’s countercultural, but countercultural is not synonymous with weird.”

“What are you, thirty?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“Probably time to get a move on. Tick tock.”

She sighed. “That’s the most asinine comment you’ve made all weekend.